


From Nevarra to Adamant, With Love (and Spiders)

by eightbots



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action & Romance, F/F, Graphic Depictions of Spiders, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6248215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eightbots/pseuds/eightbots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Bull's Chargers, jobs absolutely nobody liked, and the three stages of hand-holding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Nevarra to Adamant, With Love (and Spiders)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stonestrewn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stonestrewn/gifts).



Skinner had never imagined darkness could be quite this oppressive. The high walls and tightly spaced buildings of her alienage could make the night black as coal. The vehnandahl, taller than most houses, covered the sky in the only open space they had. But even at its most claustrophobic, it had never felt as bad as this cave.

Skinner turns a corner and comes face to face with another cave-in.

“Shit.”

“Another dead end?” Rocky asks from behind her. He, Dalish and herself had somehow gotten separated from the rest of the group. Through some cruel twist of fate, they haven’t been able to find their way back for almost an hour.

“Yes,” Skinner growls.

Nevarra, she decides, is terrible. Especially terrible are its cold, dark caves. And even more terrible than them are the Shem lords who are paying her to go into them.

“Guess we’ll just have to try the side-passage,” says Dalish.

“We didn’t take any side-passages,” Skinner argues. Maker only knows how small and dark those must be.

“We did,” Dalish insists.

“I’m pretty sure she’s right, Skinner,” Rocky says.

“If you two want to crawl into a wall to die,” she growls, “be my guests.”

“We’ve been walking for ages.” Dalish places a placating hand on her shoulder. “We’ve tried every other passage we’ve found.”

Skinner shrugs her off. “Sounds like a perfect way to get even more lost.”

Dalish grins. “Or to find the way out!”

“You can’t seriously believe that.”

“Don’t worry, ma vehnan,” the mage says, already turning around. “You can wait here and we’ll come get you when we find the exit.”

Skinner grits her teeth. Stubbornness keeps her in place for a few moments, but as she watches Dalish and Rocky’s backs retreat, she swears under her breath and moves.

“You’re not leaving me here.”

When they reach the side-passage, Skinner gives it a sceptical once-over. It looks more like a big crack in the wall than a tunnel, just about wide enough for two elves side by side. Rocky and Dalish go through without hesitation, and Skinner forces herself to follow them.

It's even worse than the others. The somewhat high ceilings in the main caves helped a little, but Dalish actually has to bend down not to bang her head in this one. How is she fine with all these tunnels? Rocky she understands, but she grew up in a forest or some shit. 

Dalish shoots her a concerned look over her shoulder. “You okay back there?”

“Fine,” she snaps.

Skinner’s frayed nerves keep flaring up for no reason, so she takes a deep breath and focuses on Dalish’s back in front of her.

It’s a good back. Not wide, solid, with an attractive arch. Shoulders pulled back. Good posture. Swaying hips. Nice. She’s carrying her bow-shaped staff in her hand so it doesn’t scrape along the ceiling.

"The least you could do is light our way,” Skinner calls.

"With what?" the other elf asks innocently, looking around at her.

Skinner gives her a stern look, and Dalish smiles sheepishly.

"I'm tired. Figured I’d save the energy."

"You're gonna need it," Rocky warns from the front. "I think I hear spiders."

Skinner swears and draws her daggers. She prefers to have the drop on her enemies, not the other way round. “How many?”

“Can’t tell. But we better get out of this tunnel. They’ll pick us off otherwise.”

They hurry ahead, and emerge in a larger cave just seconds before the enormous spiders reach it from the other side.

If Skinner didn’t feel sick before, she does now. She can barely see them in the dark, but the glint of their eyes and fangs is obvious enough. Still, she takes centre, with Dalish on her left and Rocky on her right.

A small one lurches towards Dalish, and is immediately blown aside by a blast from her staff. It reels in Skinner’s direction and she cuts it down with a slice to the thorax. When she turns back around, a much bigger spider is already on her. Its stench hits her like a wave. She forces it back with her left and kicks it away, making it stagger. A bolt from Rocky’s crossbow to the side of its head finishes it off.

Skinner forces herself to breathe through her mouth as she takes on the next one. She pivots out of the way of a blast of webbing, and cuts off two of the beast’s legs. They give way unnervingly easily under her silverite blade. She takes a moment’s reprieve to check on the others.

Two smouldering corpses are lying at Dalish’s feet. She’s holding her staff out in front of her, apparently holding two more in place. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of her neck.

On the other side, Rocky is having more trouble. His crossbow lies abandoned on the ground, and he’s defending himself only with a small dagger. Two spiders are coming at him from different sides. He won’t be able to defend himself from both of them.

Skinner rushes forward, slashing at one but only scraping its hard black carapace. It’s enough to get its attention though, and the terrifying face turns to meet her. She attacks it again, going for its eyes, but misses. She’s forced on the defensive quickly, parrying strike after strike from its legs and fangs. She can’t see how Rocky is doing anymore, but the sound of his grunting tells her he’s still alive.

Suddenly she hears Dalish cry out in alarm. A well aimed kick to the bottom of its head has her spider reeling, and she turns.

Apparently free of the spell, the two other spiders have attacked the elf from close quarters. One’s fangs are buried in the wood of Dalish’s staff, and another’s circling around to flank her.

With no time to get there and Rocky still in danger, Skinner says a quiet threat to the Maker in her head, spins the blood-slick dagger around in her right hand, and throws it at the unaware beast.

It buries itself up to the hilt in the back of its head. Skinner makes a note to thank Grim for his knife-throwing lessons. Her moment of triumph is interrupted, however, when Rocky cries out in pain.

The spider she’d knocked to the ground decided to focus back on him and managed to bite the dwarf’s left leg. He falls to his knees. Skinner buries her remaining dagger into the monster’s eye. Before she can do anything about the last one, a lightning bolt sends it flying back into the cave wall, where it crumples into a motionless heap.

“Shit, you okay?” Skinner asks Rocky. She bends over to help him up, but stops when she notices her hands. They’re black with spider blood. 

Skinner almost gags and turns away. She wipes them against the cave wall while Dalish inspects Rocky’s wound, with a worried glance towards Skinner.

“How’s it looking?” he asks in a pained voice.

“Deep, but you still have your leg. You, ser, are lucky.”

“Can you do anything about it?”

“Never been much of a healer. I could stop the bleeding, but there’s no helping if it’s poisoned.”

“We’ve got to get him back to Stitches,” Skinner says, calmer now that her hands are relatively clean. There’s still leftover adrenaline in her system, which at least makes the whole miles beneath the surface thing slightly more bearable.

They get Rocky up fairly quickly. Skinner has him throw an arm over her shoulders – Dalish is too tall – and they make their way down the passage the spiders came from. They still have a job to do.

When Rocky stumbles over a rock and groans, Skinner can’t ignore the stab of guilt that shoots through her gut. She sighs.

“Hey. Sorry.”

“What for?” he asks.

“Got distracted during the fight. Only reason I’m helping you walk right now.”

She’s almost sure he rolls his eyes at that. “Please. Not your fault. Shit like that happens in a fight, that’s just how it works.” He gives her a knowing look. “Plus, you’ve got to look out for your girl, right?”

“She’s not my girl,” Skinner goes on the defensive. “And I’m trying to apologize. I don’t apologize. Least you could do is not be a shit about it.”

Rocky laughs, and clamps his free hand over his mouth at her warning look. “Whatever you say. But I’ve picked up a little elvish here and there. And if you really want folks not to think she’s your girl,” he leans in, grinning, “you might want to stop staring at her whenever she isn’t looking.”

Skinner lets go of him, but instead of dropping to the ground he just staggers a little, laughs again, and hobbles ahead by himself.

Surprisingly, the tunnel eventually does lead them out of the maze and to the others. They’d found the nest – a vast cave covered floor to ceiling with webs and crawling with spiders. The Chief and what Chargers they'd brought – inner circle only, it was supposed to be an easy job – are pinned in the centre. 

They cut a line through the spiders, and with Dalish there, burning the nest down is quick, though not remotely painless. 

She raises her staff in the air, and looks at Skinner. Stitches is tending to Rocky and Grim, also injured in the fight, but they’re both on their feet.

“Ready?” Dalish whispers. Skinner gives a hard nod. 

A ball of fire shoots out of the tip of Dalish’s staff, straight up at the ceiling.

For a moment, nothing happens. The next, a deafening roar almost knocks Skinner off her feet. She isn’t sure if it’s the fire or the spiders, but she can make out Bull shouting “Run!” over it, so she does. She grabs Dalish by the arm and pulls her after her. 

The cavern is filled with smoke and ash in a matter of seconds, and they can only pray that none of the falling spiders landing all around them will crush them to death.

Somehow, they all make it to a small tunnel on the opposite side of the cave, first Bull, then Skinner and Dalish, then the others. They run as fast as they can, trying to outpace the smoke. The stench of burning spider is unbearable.

It seems like it takes them an eternity, but eventually the passages start seeming familiar to Skinner. They’re getting close to the cave entrance. 

The literal light at the end of the tunnel feels like a blessing from the Maker. When they burst out into the clean air Rocky is whooping, Bull is shouting, and Dalish is laughing. Krem is hunched over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily, but there’s a smile on his face too. They’re all absolutely covered in ash.

Skinner looks at Dalish, who’s grinning at her.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Dalish answers, swinging their arms. Oh. They’re holding hands now. Dalish grins wider and squeezes her fingers.

Skinner sighs, lets herself smile back, and doesn’t let go. She can blame the adrenaline later.

* * *

 

Therinfal Redoubt looks much bigger up close. It covers most of the horizon, and it almost blends in with the stormclouds gathering in the sky. Skinner likes the bad weather, though. Reminds her of home, such as it was. She always loved chasing the other kids around in the rain.

“Wow, this is very creepy.” Skinner jumps, and pretends she didn’t by glaring daggers at Dalish. She’s supposed to be the most silent member of the Bull’s Chargers, not this forest elf. Or sneakiest, she should say. Nobody outsilences Grim.

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh, nothing. Besides the big scary castle, probably full of Templars and demons and that Red Lyrium business.” 

She holds out her hand towards Skinner. “Things like that make a gal want a hand to hold.”

“Fuck your hand,” Skinner says, and immediately wants to slap herself for the mistake. But it’s too late – Dalish’s eyebrows are rising, and she’s opening her mouth to say something dirty. Things happen to Skinner when Dalish talks dirty.

So she does the only thing she can to stop it; she takes Dalish’s hand.

That does shut her up, and though it’s a blow to Skinner’s pride, she admits her surprised smile is very pretty to look at. So she does, right up until the Iron Bull’s voice from the front orders them to halt.

The Bull’s Chargers stop by the side of the road, a few hundred meters away from Therinfal Redoubt. There are only five of them today – Dalish and Skinner, Krem, Grim, Stitches, and the Iron Bull himself. A quick reconnaissance mission, for the Inquisition.

Skinner isn’t sure how she feels about them. She’s especially not sure how she feels about the Inquisitor, but that’s above her paygrade. The Chief says it’s good work, Dalish has a good feeling, and Skinner trusts their judgement. 

“Okay, troops,” Bull says, as if he was talking to the full company. “Inquisition scouts are already on the other side of the castle, ready to distract whatever’s in there so we can get in and sniff around.”

“How will they know we’re here?” Skinner asks.

“Easy,” he replies. “Dalish will send up a flare.”

“With my bow.”

“With her bow. Then we wait five minutes, and go in through the front door. Everyone clear?”

They all signal their understanding, and the Chief motions for Dalish to begin. She sends up an orb of energy, which rises slowly until Skinner almost can’t make it out anymore. Then it flares up, brightening the clouded sky for a few seconds, before fading out.

Krem yells “March,” much too enthusiastically for only five people, and leads the way.

They split up once they’re inside the walls. There’s no scouts on the battlements, or in the courtyard. Skinner knows better than to let her guard down, however, which is why this time she hears Dalish approaching on her way back to the main entrance.

“Seen anything?” she murmurs. 

Dalish shakes her head. “But it’s strange. I feel as though something was here, and isn’t anymore.”

“Something? Or someone?”

“I’m… not sure?” She shrugs apologetically. “Either way, it’s not a particularly good feeling.”

“Good to know,” Skinner mutters.

None of them having found anything besides a few signs of people having been there not too long ago – disturbed dirt and discarded food and the like – they regroup and enter the fortress itself.

Skinner goes first, sticking to the shadows, zigzagging from corner to corner to make sure the foyer is clear. By the time she’s done she’s covered in cobwebs. She calls them to proceed and they do, weapons ready. The Chief walks with his battleaxe, Krem with his hammer, Dalish with her bow and Grim with his actual bow. When they reach the double doors leading to the Great Hall they divide into two groups, and push them open.

Like the rest of Therinfal Redoubt, this room is also half collapsed. Skinner pads softly along the floor, avoiding the gravel, then gives up when Krem’s heavy boots crush it behind her. He’s okay for a Shem, but there’s more than one reason she prefers elves. Or anyone else, really.

When they find the Red Lyrium and the corpses, Dalish stops dead in her tracks. Skinner collides with her shoulder. She stands on her tip-toes to look over it. She sees… Well. She’s not sure how to describe it. But there’s a lot of blood, and she thinks she knows what Dalish meant about feeling like something had been there.

The five of them clear the other rooms together, not splitting up even to save time. It becomes obvious fairly quickly that whoever had been here left in a hurry, but they’re paid for thoroughness. On the way back, Skinner holds Dalish’s hand again. Once, she thought that every battle was the same, and every corpse was pretty much like all the others. She’s glad the clouds are covering the hole in the sky.

* * *

 

Adamant Fortress is, in one word, a mess. For once, everyone is in as foul a mood as Skinner is to be there, but the Chief insisted the work had to be done anyway. Someone had to clear out the leftover demons, and the task fell to them. Nothing they hadn’t done before, he’d promised.  
“Easy for him to say,” Skinner mutters into her mug. “Prancing around with his Inquisitor and their merry band of idiots.”

“But aren’t we a merry band of idiots for taking this job?” Stitches asks from the other side of the fire. Skinner raises her full mug in acknowledgement. She hasn’t been able to drink a sip.

The Chargers are at Adamant in force, camped both inside and out, with siege engines ready to tear the walls down once they’re sure nothing’s inside them anymore. Inquisition soldiers and other mercenaries are with them as well, rounding up the total number to, Krem had said, 150 men. While the rest of them work in shifts, he’s in charge of the whole operation. Skinner hasn’t seen him in days.

Grey Wardens are there too, though they’re not supposed to be. They wear patchwork armor and fight with borrowed swords, but Dalish pointed them out to Skinner on the second night, whispering who they were in her ear.

“They want to make up for what they did. Or they’re looking for old friends.”

Skinner can’t judge them. But she keeps an eye out, all the same.

She sets her mug down on her bench and wanders off into the dark. Stupid, in a demon-infested ruin, to walk alone. But she has a shadow of her own.

“It really is pretty, in its own way,” Dalish says, looking at the walls with a strange smile in her eyes.

Skinner scoffs. “You’re as off your rocker as those Wardens sometimes.”

“It’s strange, that I like walls and grand buildings more than you.”

“Is it?”

Dalish thinks about it. “No, I suppose not.”

They walk together in silence for a while. Hand-holding is a habit now, in private. And in public too, really, but they’re often too busy holding other things. Like weapons. 

Their path leads them out of the fortress eventually, and away from the camps and people camped in front of it.

“Sky’s pretty though,” Dalish says eventually. “We agree on that.”

“That we do,” Skinner nods, looking up at the stars. She can see the faint scar where the Breach had been, and she’s relieved she can look upwards again without feeling trapped.

Someone starts shouting behind them, but it’s a cheery, drunk kind of shouting.

“Suppose we should get back to our tent,” says Skinner.

“Absolutely vital. Otherwise the demons might get us,” Dalish nods sagely.

They retrace their steps, walking past resting soldiers and drinking mercenaries. What Chargers they see nod at them, but don’t stop to chat. They’re in for a few busy weeks, and they’re taking what time off they have for themselves. Just like Dalish and Skinner intend to, really.

Stitches isn’t at the fire anymore when they get there. Dalish crawls into their tent immediately, while Skinner pauses to pull her boots off first. She leaves them outside, like a normal person. The night’s clear, and people who trek mud all over their tents for no reason are suckers, if you ask her.

When she gets inside, Dalish is already taking her clothes off. Her skinny legs are bare and outstretched, taking up both sides of the tent. Skinner runs a hand through the light hair on her thigh and receives a face full of pants. 

She throws them aside and looks at Dalish. She’s leaning back on her elbows, grinning and putting herself on display.

“Your shirt’s still on,” Skinner points out, even as she moves to lie between Dalish’s legs.

“So is yours,” Dalish answers. She reaches between her legs and spreads herself open for her. Her moisture reflects the faint light of the fire outside.

“That’s fine.” Skinner prefers to keep her clothes on most days. She grabs Dalish’s thighs and tugs her closer to her face. She looks up for confirmation, and when Dalish nods she laps her up, slow and deep.

Once Dalish is wet with Skinner and her own arousal, she stops. 

“How do you want it?” she asks.

“Clit, please.”

Skinner licks her lips, and moves Dalish’s hood off her nub. She doesn’t have to bother with the hair, since Dalish is about as hairy as a teenager, unlike herself. She likes it though. Never cared for the feel of it on her face.

She sucks Dalish’s clit into her mouth, a steady pull. She’s propping herself up with one arm, and uses the other to lift her shirt a bit. Dalish lies back with a satisfied sound, and Skinner starts running her fingers over her soft stomach. She can take this slow, she thinks. They’ve got all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I know people always say this, but thank you for your awesome prompts! I really appreciated the way you made them really clear, and still left tons of space to interpret and play with them. I hope I did these two weird elves justice.


End file.
